


In the morning I think of you

by YarnEater15



Series: The real treasure was the au we made along the way :) [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Prince! Dream au, Sunrises, how does this website work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:53:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27510316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YarnEater15/pseuds/YarnEater15
Summary: He’s awake before the sun rises, and by then his mind is filled with the thoughts of a familiar, goggled airhead.OrI’m just testing out how to post stuff here, so have a one shot from my fantasy au I’ve been working on
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound
Series: The real treasure was the au we made along the way :) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2010535
Kudos: 63





	In the morning I think of you

**Author's Note:**

> My friend and I were talking about angst and I got carried away and made an au. Here’s a one shot based off of that.
> 
> Though, fair warning, my writing is kind of lacking, don’t be afraid to tell me what I should’ve done otherwise

Dream understands that he was born to fight, knows it like he knows his heart beats.

He was born with a mind sharper than most, with strength that rushed through his veins paired with the adrenaline in his blood that had become customary throughout the years.

He was as competitive as he was passionate, never once having given himself a single moment of calm. He was hot-headed and head-strong, stuck to his morals and never backed down once if he could help it. He listened to every call to adventure, took every risk he could, and ran down every path open to him, even when he had been young.

He could remember being as young as 5 and getting himself roughed up and dirty in training, taking way too many unnecessary risks to count; being 10 and running away from the knights and maids chasing him down the hall, sneaking into the hidden passages he knew not even his father — the EMPEROR — would have known about, barefoot in the dusty hallways that reeked of age.

That all changed when he met George.

When before he could barely control himself, now it had seemed as if he actively searched for a way to put himself into less-than-favourable situations. Dream would never once admit it out loud, but he would throw away everything he could just to watch George smile, giggling ever so softly as he usually did.

However, he notes, with George, there were more willing quiet moments than there were before. Soft moments, quiet stretches of time sandwiched between hours blurred by adrenaline and spite, where all George had to do was hold his hand as softly as he always did and Dream would suddenly find himself holding his breath in quiet anticipation.

In those moments he thanks the world for George, for meeting all those years back on his 13th birthday, on a balcony that was placed just far enough away from the fray to hide the prince and his companions.

Dream smiles at the memory, as blurry and forgettable as that day was, he could still remember with full clarity the awkwardly stiff boy clad in the colours of his friend’s nation. He could remember dark brown hair that reached just low enough to curl behind his ears, framing his pale face in the moonlight, goggles and all.

From then on, Dream would seek him out whenever he could, attending every event he could attend in the Antarctic Empire — which was no easy feat considering the fact that it was 3 days away, by flight mind you, from Armunden, his homeland — just to find himself staring into the endless abyss of dark goggles framed by shining silver and dark brown hair.

It was then a wonderful coincidence that George would attend the best magical school in Armunden, Quinn Academy, in the same grade as him, slowly solidifying his peculiar role in Dream’s life, as the goggled idiot who had stolen his heart.

He shakes the thought out of his head, he’ll show me when he’s ready, Dream reasons. Even then, it takes him a considerable amount of effort to shake the curiosity slithering into his mind, like a snake that whispered temptations, detailing fables of glossy, wide eyes that hid beneath the darkest of lenses.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about it, because he had — almost everyday at that. What were the colour of his eyes and in what way did they twinkle, if they even did? Did they shine every time he’d spotted Dream from amongst the crowd in that ever observant way he always did? Did they reflect in the moonlight, soft and endearingly beautiful as Dream had expected them to?

He’ll show me when he’s ready, Dream sternly replies to the thoughts that thrashed in his head, placating them as best he could, but then again, just the thought of George sets him mind aflame.

It had barely been morning, and from the balcony of his dorm he could see the sun just peeking out from the horizon, orange and pink dancing amongst the clouds fading into the light blue sky.

He reminisces of a time when he had been younger — when a morning such as this one would have made him squirm and wiggle in his shoes, ready to pounce at any opportunity he could get to sneak out and run around the town unguarded.

Now, however, he merely sighs and watches the sun come up, barely containing the excitement that filled him more and more as he watched the world wake up slowly, hands holding onto cold, metal railings with bars that twisted and turned into wondrous patterns, admiring the way the town looked underneath the haze of dawn.

And even as he watched the sun climb up from behind the hills, the light filling the darkness like a torch to an unlit cavern, he could only think of a certain goggled hot-head and the way his heart beat one too many miles too quickly.

Dream is a fire that burns too quickly and too brightly, a warrior born to fight; but maybe, just maybe, he could burn just a little less for just a little bit longer, just to see a smile on soft lips once more.

Maybe, just maybe, George could teach him to love the quiet just a bit more.

**Author's Note:**

> This website is confusing, but I also love the works on here and often stalked the tags because I love what a lot of people wrote, so I decided to make an account??? Might regret it, who knows? All I know is that I made it and my friends might find this on their own


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